Michael in the Bathroom
by Wirogmaraf
Summary: (There's no Be More Chill category so I just did DEH, sorry) What happens in an alternate universe after Jeremy leaves Michael alone in the bathroom and Jake's Halloween party? TRIGGER WARNING! Rated M for... well... exactly what the trigger warning is... suicide.


He was alone.

Michael was all alone.

A world where there were two controllers were gone.

He was living a one-player game.

Curled up in the bathtub, where he could hardly hear the music pounding on the door. His mind blocked it all out. Tears dried on his cheeks as new ones swelled in his eyes. His entire life, working with the one person he actually loved. The one who didn't judge, the one who _cared_.

The thing is, he didn't care anymore.

Michael had lost his best friend to a robot. To a microchip. Jeremy was no longer Jeremy. He was… gone.

Ever since they were little they would listen to each other, give horrible advice, and laugh about the outcomes later. They would fight the bad guy together. They were useless on their own.

 _I'm so useless_ … Michael thought. His throat caught and more salty tears started pouring out his eyes, fogging up his glasses. He tried not to make noise, but it was impossible when he remembered Jeremy demanding him like a dweeb. Like a nobody.

Michael was just a nobody.

He chocked and cried out, praying no one heard. The beats in the background drowned out his sobs. Just when he thought his panic attack was over, it cheated him out by sending its brother.

Clinging to his heart, Michael cried. Forgetting his past and everyone he had. That one person. He tried to help and got hurt. He tried to love and got rejected. He tried everything, but he just wasn't enough. Jeremy just didn't… want him.

He didn't want him.

No one did.

Needing relief, Michael fished around in his pockets for anything. Anything that would do it. The panic would go away if he did it. The fear, the worthlessness. Everything.

Everything would be gone.

He only got a zipped up bag of weed. Not enough to do quite the trick. Not enough to get high to forget all his troubles.

Instead, he picked his aching body up and went to the bathroom cupboards. He grabbed the first medical-related thing he could find.

A bottle full to the brim of pills.

 _Drink up._

 _Forget it all._

 _Get high._

 _Die._

 _No one likes you, Michael._

 _Take them._

 _They're here just for you._

The voice in his head grew louder with his whines.

 _You're useless._

 _Jeremy hates you._

 _You have no life._

He recognized it as his own voice.

 _Kill yourself, Michael._

Michael immediately felt sick to his stomach. He was so low… low… He needed to be high. To breat-No. To not breath. To be gone. To be far gone.

 _I'm worthless_.

Then with a deep breath, he unlocked the cap and dumped the entire container of prescribed pills into his dry mouth. Swallowing them with little trouble, he took a seat on the bath edge and waited for any sort of effect.

As each second went by, he could feel his heart race then fall. His body turned hot and cold at the same time. He felt vomit rising, but he just swallowed it. His blood felt like tar. His lungs started to close up. Instead of fighting to breathe, he allowed the dizziness overwhelm him.

Then with little to no thoughts that weren't about self-hatred, he collapsed to the ground, passing out. His heart raced and his body gasped for breath that wouldn't come.

It wasn't long until it realized no help was coming and gave up.

Now the bathroom was empty.

Just a corpse in the bathroom.

A goner in the bathroom.

A loner in the bathroom.

Michael in the bathroom.

Downstairs, Jeremy spoke with Christine. His heart fluttered at her smile, and his head ached whenever he heard Rich call out something about Mountain Dew Red.

Freak.

Before he knew it, it was all over. The pig noises coming from her mouth, the _whoops_ of high teenagers partying. The miniscule amount of alcohol in his system washed away, and a Keanu Reeves look-alike appeared next to him.

"Jeremy," the Squip said.

"What?"

"Go home."

"Why?!" He flushed.

"Trust me. You do trust me, right Jeremy?"

"Y-yes, of course, bu-" He stammered. "…Can I just say goodbye first? Can you please give me five more minutes? Like just delete yourself or something, _please_? Five minutes."

The Squip nodded. "Whatever you wish. Five minutes tops, you do what I say."

With a sort of computer-shutting down noise echoing in his ear, Jeremy's Squip disappeared.

All of a sudden, he remembered Michael. Now that he was fairly sober and Squip-free, it would be the best time to apologize.

He looked up the stairs. His former best friend hadn't come back down yet. He cringed in his stomach, hoping Michael wasn't in trouble.

Ignoring all the pushing drunk faces, the timer started in the back of his programmed head, Jeremy headed upstairs. The bathroom door was still closed and he could see the light was on from under the door.

"Michael?" He knocked. No answer. "Michael, I'm so sorry, I came to apologize. I-I don't know what came over…" He heard no sense of life from the other side of the door. "…Michael?"

He knocked harder, kicking the door slightly. "Michael, it's Jeremy. Please open the door!" Still nothing.

Worry consumed as the irate expired in his gut, and he found the strength to break off a wire from his robot costume and use it to unlock the door. Thankfully, video games had taught him some things. He called out his friend's name one last time before pushing the door open.

As soon as he saw the scene in the bathroom, he gasped and stepped back. He dropped the wire and stared at the body of his friend until his eyes watered and knees buckled. The next thing he knew, he was sobbing uncontrollably.

"Michael… _Michael_!" He started to shake him. "Wake up, please wake up! …I can't… I _can't_ Michael!"

The silence was eerie.

He cradled his dead friend's neck so that their noses touched. Jeremy shuddered at the touch, remembering the feeling of Michael pulling him close, too excited about some band or video game that just came out to notice their distance.

When he was excited he would laugh. Laugh about how crazy life is and how he could possibly find someone who would listen.

"Buddy… Were you always hurting like this?" he cried.

 _Someone who would listen_.

The Squip.

The fucking Squip.

He stopped listening.

He was all that Michael had, and he couldn't see that before. He couldn't see the joyful gleam in his best friend's eyes when they past each other in the hallway. He couldn't see how much more comfortable with himself he came when he was around Jeremy. The one thing he could truly see was the itching pain on his face when he left.

Yet he decided to ignore it.

"Look Michael, please just listen. I know I didn't, and I'm _so sorry_. I just wanted everything I never could have… I didn't realize I had it right in front of me. I had the perfect friend. Someone who accepts me for me. You made me roll my eyes but with laughter in the back of my throat. Michael, you beautiful _idiot_ , you were my best friend. I love you…"

I _loved_ you…

With his heart shattered into a million pieces, Jeremy collapsed on top of the body, and entwined one of his hands with one of Michael's. He held it with a death grip, desperately wanting it to do the same. But the fact that it was ice cold didn't help.

All of a sudden, the Squip showed up behind him.

"Jeremy. Times up." He didn't answer. "Jeremy?"

When he finally turned around with tear streaked cheeks and anger in his eyes, the Squip grabbed hold of his muscles and pulled him away from the corpse, causing him to cry out.

"Don't struggle now. Comply. Don't make things hard for me, Jeremy."

He went limp, allowing the robot to take control of his entire body and walk him outside the house. The Squip held Jeremy's chin up so he couldn't help but stare into his ice-cold eyes. "Wipe your face." He used his costume as a rag to clean off the remaining tears and snot.

"Good. Now, remember

Be

More

Chill."


End file.
